If you were a grocery trust for the whole United States, you would be singing another song.

And the song would be, 'Blessed are the trusts.' And yet again, not only is your small combination not a trust, but you are aware yourself of its lack of strength.

You are beginning to divine your own end.

You feel yourself and your branch stores a pawn in the game.

You see the powerful interests rising and growing more powerful day by day; you feel their mailed hands descending upon your profits and taking a pinch here and a pinch there--the railroad trust, the oil trust, the steel trust, the coal trust; and you know that in the end they will destroy you, take away from you the last per cent of your little profits.
"You, sir, are a poor gamester.